Silent Night
by TheEleventhIncarnate
Summary: The Doctor's come back for a visit. But trouble seems to follow him wherever he goes, and this time he's not the only one trouble wants to bother. SuperWho, slight 11/Castiel, may contain spoilers. T for language. Also a Christmas special for a special person. Enjoy. 3
1. Prologue

Silent Night

Summary: The Doctor's come back for a visit. But trouble seems to follow him wherever he goes, and this time he's not the only one trouble wants to bother. SuperWho, slight 11/Castiel, may contain spoilers. T for language. Also a Christmas special for a special person. Enjoy.

…

Prologue

As busy as Manhattan had a tendency to be, especially so close to the holidays, the graveyard was always quiet. It wasn't uncommon for visitors to sometimes wish it wasn't as such. The silence, the sun going down as time went on, the grey clouds interrupting the colourless sky—all these things did no more than bring to life the inevitability of death. They brought back the pain of knowing that a loved one was gone forever, only to be seen in pictures and memories.

There had yet to be snow on the ground that day, a few weeks into December, but now and again the flakes would drift from the never-ending ceiling and fade away on whatever they happened to collide with. The air was frigid enough for one to be able to see his breath come out in a plume every time he exhaled. There was no wind.

The Doctor stood by himself in the cemetery, looking over those words again. The same ones he'd watched appear on the stone all that time ago. The same words that did no more than sit on the grave, yet had been powerful enough to rip his best friend from his grip forever.

Pond. No, Williams. Gone forever.

"Sir."

The voice came from behind him, loud enough to be audible, but still fell on deaf ears. The Doctor was lost in thought. Normally he was good at multitasking; thinking, no matter how deeply, while still being aware of himself. But not here. Not now. The setting, the sky, the tombstone that never left his mind often caused him to lose himself in it all. His fingers made contact with the cold stone and lingered there, wishing he'd never seen the dreadful thing at all.

"Sir," came the voice again. This time it broke through the image of his beloved Pond and he turned, still in a daze.

What he saw not only brought him back to reality, but it flooded his brain with so many terrible things that he stepped back against the gravestone, making as if to protect it. Without warning, the angel statue before him cracked and suddenly exploded, its fragments scattering like the snow around it. A man stood no more than a foot behind where the creature had been only moments before. His hand remained in the air, bent as if still holding the stone skull.

"Sir, you must be more careful."

The Doctor's shock faded and tightness filled his chest. He had been seconds from death without even noticing. The thought arose that this stranger had just killed the same angel that took his friends from him and he pushed it away. His mouth worked to form words and could only find one.

"Why?"

"The world still needs you," replied the stranger. Like the Time Lord, the man appeared to be human, but the Doctor knew better than to assume such a thing. His saviour's face gave way to no emotion, his blue eyes almost lifeless in the way they stared. He wore a trench coat and.. was his tie.. backwards?

"Who are you?" The Doctor inquired curiously.

"It is not your time yet," was the response, flat and mechanical.

There was no time to ask another question, though the Doctor burned with many. His hand darted to his jacket and retrieved the sonic screwdriver—but just like that, the man was gone. Disappeared in the fraction of a millisecond it took to reach into a pocket. All that remained of the encounter was the shrapnel scattered among his feet. Bits and pieces of what could have been the angel that murdered him.

But it wasn't his time yet.

So he stood, alone, confused, with the remains of his friends and the remains of his enemy. This was supposed to be just a visit. He was only here to lay some flowers at a grave.

"The world still needs me."

Snow continued to fall.


	2. Where It Starts

Silent Night

Chapter 1 – Where It Starts

Sam Winchester sat patiently at the cafe's booth, his eyes fixed out the window. His mind flitted through possibilities like an archive seeking out a positive match. The problem was that they really didn't have enough information about "strange happenings" to know what to looks for.

Dead men. Four, so far. All in ways that seemed to be accidents—but four in the course of under two weeks had caught their attention. Still, for all he knew, they could be dealing with some serial killer, and they weren't as good with those as they happened to be with demons or whatever the hell else decided to turn up.

His nervous thoughts were interrupted by his brother taking a seat across from him, setting down two cups of coffee on the table. It was then Sam realised he'd been toying with the salt shaker and, with a little embarrassment, he returned it to its rightful place next to the pepper. Dean pretended not to notice and placed Manhattan's most recent newspaper down in front of his brother. He pointed to the headline.

"Two more. Yesterday and last Wednesday."

"What do you think?"

"I don't know yet," Dean admitted with a shrug. He glanced out the window. Snow drifted to the ground in fat flakes, some sticking, some not. "Got to ask around a bit first."

"Did you ask—"

"The cashier doesn't know anything."

The boys went quiet. Sam looked over the article with a slight frown. It read similar to the others he'd read from the same paper in the sense that it was much too vague and the police department knew nothing. A man fallen off the roof of his home while putting up the Christmas lights. A man taking a tumble down the stairs to his cellar. A man electrocuted while attempting to repair a damaged power line. And finally, the most recent death, the article recounted shoddy details of a man who supposedly slipped on a wet bathroom floor and cracked his head open on the countertop. No visible connections between the "accidents."

"So they're all men. Probably all have families. And they all died at home. That's all we got?"

"That's all we got."

"Dean, why are we—"

"Hello, you two!" A stranger interrupted Sam's question and both men looked up, their confusion amplifying at the sight of the voice's source.

Neither had ever seen the man before, but neither would ever forget him after that point. Despite the weather, he wore no coat aside from an old fashioned blazer. Sam swore he could see red suspenders between the top layer and the stranger's pastel pink dress shirt. It was difficult to tell which stood out more; his red bow-tie, his incredibly prominent British accent or the excited looking grin that could've looked just as proper on a seven year old. The Winchesters couldn't force a reply of any kind. Dean was too busy staring at the man's hair, all pushed to one side and somehow managing to stay there.

Meeting nothing but staring faces, the odd man pointed an index finger at the headline that was still on the table.

"I'm conducting a bit of an investigation and you boys have that vibe about you that says 'I know things.' So, any idea of what's been going on around here?"

The brothers exchanged a glance before responding.

".. Sorry, who are you?" Sam asked.

"Right. Where are my manners." The man offered his hand which, after a moment's hesitation, Sam shook, but Dean refused. "I'm the Doctor. Here to help."

Silence ensued. Neither of the Winchesters mentioned their own names in return. The newcomer clapped his hands together.

"So! About these deaths. Not normal, are they?" There was no time in the pause for either man to answer the question. The Doctor shook his head, picked up the newspaper and continued. "No, not at all. Little in Manhattan is. But I've certainly yet to meet a human serial killer that is this good, so we definitely have something more exciting on our hands. Have you been to any of the scenes yet?"

A thousand questions ran through Sam's head, similar ones crossing Dean's mind as well. This man obviously knew of the supernatural world if he had the same hunch. Unless he was simply some stranger with intense mental instabilities, but certainly that'd been thought of the Winchesters before, as well. Still, how much did he know, exactly? Was he even human himself, despite appearing fairly normal? They'd encountered plenty of other races that had the ability to look 'normal.'

A possibility arose in both brothers' minds that this Doctor fellow was an angel, but it felt too unlikely, considering his attitude and what he called himself. So then perhaps he was a demon. Or a shape shifter of sorts. Nervous with how little they could assume, they continued to be at a loss for words.

"What kind of doctor are you?" Dean inquired at last, seeming to have ignored every word the man had said after stating his 'name,' to which the Doctor stared at him with a mixed sense of bewilderment and impatience. That question got a little more annoying every time someone asked it.

"The Doctor, that's all," he replied simply. "That's what they call me. I'm not entirely sure why. I'm not entirely sure who 'they' are, at that. But that's my name, I suppose."

"So what's your real name?"

"We were going to check a few out today," Sam interrupted, earning himself another wide, childish grin from the Doctor, but only a glare from his brother. "The scenes, I mean."

"Sam!" Dean hissed.

"What?" Sam shook his head, shifting closer to the window and gesturing for the Doctor to sit down, which he did. "He knows something. That's an edge we don't usually have."

Another silence fell between the three and the Doctor shifted uncomfortably. 'I just want to help' came to his lips but made a decision not to pass them. Dean struck him as a man not easily persuaded by anyone, much less a newcomer like himself. He said nothing.

His green eyes trailed out the window instead, stopping on a dreadfully familiar fountain, the stone image of a young mother holding her son's hand standing on a pedestal in the middle of the spouting water. The boy, constructed to look no more than eight years old, was looking the wrong way. Perhaps the project was always like that. Perhaps the child was meant to be distracted by the city's life, dragging his busy mother down as she attempted to get her errands out of the way before lunch.

Or perhaps it stared directly into the Doctor's eyes with a smile chiselled into its rounded face because someone had looked away. Welcome back, those empty features spoke into his mind. Welcome back. We missed you. You never did say goodbye.

"Well?"

Someone was speaking to him.

"Doctor?"

Someone human.

"Hm? Sorry, what?" He said, forcing his gaze from the statues.

"I said, tell us what you know," Dean repeated himself, irritated.

"Oh." He still said nothing. The boys stared at him expectantly. ".. Oh. Oh! Addresses. I have addresses. They're not all in the paper. Had to ask around."

This seemed to satisfy them, which the Doctor was relieved to see. Dean stood from the booth and slid his jacket on.

"Good," he said, "I was starting to think we'd never get started. Come on, Sammy. We're on the clock."

The other two men stood as well, the younger Winchester following his brother out the cafe's door. The Doctor's eyes again returned to the sculpture across the road. The little boy's head was turned to where it was supposed to be; facing up, at his mother. He almost didn't notice the figure in the same trench coat he'd seen only a day before—but the stranger's back was to him.

"Hey!" The Doctor was snapped away from his thoughts for the second time, turning to see Dean holding the door open and giving him that same expectant look as from before. "On the clock means on the clock, bow legs. Get a move on."

The Doctor could only nod dumbly in response. He took one last look out the window before following the ghostbuster. The man in the trench coat was nowhere to be seen.


	3. Bad Listener

Silent Night

Chapter 2 – Bad Listener

Late afternoon was drawing an early sunset. Castiel's breath appeared in front of him when he exhaled, only doing so to watch the little cloud rise and break apart. Nobody paid him any attention. He stood across the street from the cafe that the men he called his friends spoke business in. Neither had yet to be informed he was back—or, at that, even alive.

He looked back at the stone statue that stood dormant behind him. Neither the little boy nor his mother was facing his direction. But he could sense the fear. That little boy had been facing his mother just a moment before. Now it glanced not at Castiel, but over his shoulder, through the window of the cafe. He didn't need to turn around. He knew what the creature was looking at. Who, rather. He silently puffed out another little cloud.

The streets were getting quieter by the minute. Almost no one was walking; although Castiel himself wasn't cold, he knew that the temperature was dropping well below comfortable levels for humans.

He stepped up onto the rim of the fountain, lifted his hand and leaned forwards. It was a small one: small enough for him to reach the boy's carved head without falling in. Placing his palm on its forehead, he used it for balance and momentarily closed his eyes. The stone grew warm in seconds and its empty eyes took on a bright white glow. And as quickly as it had started, it was over. Castiel stepped down off the fountain, contently looking over the fountain with the sculpture of a little boy holding his mother's hand, staring up at her as if to ask her something.

Satisfied, he disappeared.

...

The car ride was quiet. Aside from a brief dispute over why the Doctor needed to come along at all, no one had spoken since giving the addresses.

The Doctor wasn't too fond of car rides. They were more susceptible to traffic and explosions. However, he also wasn't fond of travelling alone, whether it was on Earth or not. Somewhat unwillingly, he sat in the back seat of the Impala by himself, resting his head against the window. Something was nagging at his brain—something important—something to do with a trench coat—

"Who are you?"

Again with the interruptions. Always with the interruptions. One of the boys had asked, but he didn't bother glancing up to find out which. The response was mechanical.

"I'm the Doctor. I'm here to help."

But whatever progress he'd made on his horribly tangled train of thought was already gone. He sighed quietly.

"You keep saying that," Dean said, "But it never really answers the question. What kind of doctor?"

"_The_ Doctor."

"Doctor who?"

The alien cracked a smile. "That's always been the question."

"And?" inquired Sam.

"There's never been an answer."

Dean made a sharp and abrupt left turn, effectively bashing the Doctor's forehead against the window. He let out a blaming 'ouch' and raised a hand to the spot, but Dean wasn't listening. He slammed on the brakes outside a partially decorated house and got out, leaving just enough time for the other two passengers to notice that they'd arrived at one of the addresses before the back door was opened and the Doctor yanked from his seat. Dean slammed the time lord up against the car, gripping his dress shirt in two tight fists.

"You are Johnny fucking Testing my patience, bow legs. Give me a name before I give you a black eye."

"That would hardly get us anywhere—"

"Dean," Sam interrupted with a slam of the car's door. Dean's raised fist froze midair and he looked at his younger brother with eyes that pleaded innocent. Sam shook his head and the Doctor was released. He smoothed out his shirt and fixed his bow tie, trying to ignore the dirtiest look he'd received since the seventh century.

"Which house is this?" Dean asked unhappily.

"The Christmas lights one," Sam replied, regarding the roof with one end a string of light bulbs hanging over the gutter.

He'd gotten only a little information on this particular "accident." The man's wife had been out shopping at the time, to discover her life partner's body upon returning home an estimated two hours later. Supposedly, their six year old daughter had been upstairs in her room at the time. Their eleven year old son, however, apparently told reporters that he didn't remember a lot about the entire day, but he had probably been playing video games in the basement. The Winchesters silently turned and adjusted each others' ties before starting up the driveway.

"This was chalked up to be an accident? The local police must be dense as—"

Dean turned and shoved the Doctor up against the Impala again. He opened the back door, pushed the alien inside and slammed the door shut. He pressed his forefinger up against the window.

"You. Wait. Here."

He spun on his heels, adjusted his cuffs and once more approached the house. Sam eyed his brother briefly but thought better of commenting. Truthfully, he was certain that the investigating would be easier without their new eccentric friend anyway. He rang the doorbell and both boys put on their best sales pitch smiles. Moments later, a tired looking, middle-aged woman answered the door, giving the two a quick once-over. She didn't bother to feign being polite. No doubt this was the widow.

"Can I help you?" She asked, feeling obligated to do so.

"Good evening, ma'am, my partner and I were wondering if you—"

Dean's charade was rather quickly cut short by a loud bang from the house's second floor. The woman, a mother first and polite later, abandoned her guests and rushed up the stairs. The Winchesters followed without thinking twice.

The woman shrieked and raised a hand to her gaping mouth. Sam covered his face with both hands. Dean snorted a laugh. With an open window behind him, the Doctor lay face down on the bedroom floor, his lanky legs still up in the air, helplessly tangled in the shutters. A lamp was firmly in his grip and, after he'd managed to somewhat right himself again, he placed it back on the night table he'd otherwise already trashed.

"Don't panic," he said, clicking the lamp on. "I didn't break it."

The humans stared at him.

"Get out of my house!" the woman suddenly shouted at him.

"Son of a bitch. I told you to wait in the car."

"What?"

"Not you—him."

"I thought this was the plan!"

"_We _were the plan!"

"_Who are you people_?" the woman demanded.

The Doctor stood and shook her hand, grinning that same childish grin of his.

"I'm the Doctor. Here to help. These are my associates, Sam," he gestured to the younger Winchester, who was apparently trying to signal him to stop with the names. It didn't work. "And the short, angry one is Dean."

Again they stared.

".. What?" he asked innocently.

"Get out of my house. All of you. Out, out, out." She was ushering the three of them back down the stairs when the Doctor stepped around her and went right back up them.

"Sure, sure. But I'd like to speak to your daughter first."

"Caroline's asleep."

"Oh, of course. Asleep."

There was a pause. He turned his wrist over and checked his watch.

"At five in the evening?"

"She's sick," the woman replied flatly.

"You'd better go check on her, then."

Another pause. All six human eyes were fixed on the Doctor's, but his held contact with the woman's. Those green eyes made her forget all about the fact that that same man had just intruded through her home's second floor window and she, almost hypnotically, ascended the stairs again. She brushed passed the green-eyed man and made her way towards the door at the end of the hall with him close behind. After a quick, uneasy glance passed between them, the Winchesters followed as well.

The door gave a quiet creak as it was pushed open. Only a room away, they could hear the woman's son as he tapped away at a computer keyboard, some unrecognisable alternative rock band playing from his radio.

The Doctor remained in the doorframe as the mother entered her daughter's room, sat on the edge of the bed and put her hand to her child's pale forehead. Even from a distance, he could tell that yes, she was sick, but not with a virus: she was sick with fear. Her blue eyes, shiny with tears, were fixed on the ceiling, near the wall closest to the foot of her bed. A closet, the Doctor presumed.

Dean attempted to step into the room and was stopped by the Doctor's arm. His free hand reached into his pocket, suddenly waving about this noisy little.. pen-flashlight-thing.

"What is that? Why are you still here?" the woman asked him, suddenly aware of the men's presence again. She moved as if to stand up. "I told you to get out. I'll call the police."

"Ma'am, please," the Doctor held his hands out in surrender and his gadget went quiet. "What is Caroline looking at?"

Caroline's mother glanced down at her daughter's eyes. She followed the blue-eyed gaze to the corner that none of the men at the door could see. Her mouth dropped open in horror, the blood draining from her face in one solid moment. The woman was seconds from screaming. She snapped her attention back to the Doctor, the words already formed on her lips but not yet passing them.

And then they were gone. She stared at the strangers with confusion.

"Who are you? Why are you in my house?"

"I thought so."

"Doctor—?" Sam started, watching the man pocket his strange piece of equipment, push his way between the brothers and head down the stairs. He called again. "Doctor!"

The same green eyes that had been so hypnotic only minutes before had lost all their childish shine. Without that immature grin on his face, the Doctor didn't look so incompetent. His features were suddenly so grim that neither Winchester had any problem with following his suggestion first and asking questions later.

"Time for us to go."


	4. Check It Twice

Silent Night

(A/N: In regards to the Supernatural time period; I'd rather not outright state it, actually. The story should reveal it over the next few chapters. If I continue to be asked about it then I'll tell you guys.)

Chapter 3 – Check It Twice

The Doctor had already closed his fists around empty air before his brain registered that he was on the wrong side of the car. In the actual driver's seat next to him, Dean put the keys into the ignition and turned them, managing to regard the other man with amusement in a smirk that had somehow broken through a mutual web of unease. Sam unwillingly got in the back seat, but no one was surprised that the Impala remained in park.

Dean cleared his throat. "You want to tell us what's going on, bow legs?"

"Is 'Doctor' really such a difficult name to remember?" the Doctor snapped, irritated.

"Guys," Sam interjected. "Can we _please _cut down on the bickering? We have better things to do."

Both men in the front seat turned and stared at the youngest of the three for a moment. Dean stuck out his tongue.

"He started it."

"You boys have guns, don't you?" the Doctor suddenly asked. His eyes were fixed on the house. The ordinary looking house with the ordinary decorations for an ordinary time of the year that were unfinished for very extraordinary reasons. More specifically, his eyes were fixed on said ordinary house's ordinary second floor window that belonged to the little girl that lived there. "Americans usually do."

After a moment of confused hesitation, Dean nodded and hooked his thumb towards the trunk. "In the back."

"How many?"

A shrug. "Enough."

Dissatisfied with such an inaccurate answer, the Doctor continued to stare vacantly at the house for another few moments. Without warning, he snatched the keys out of the ignition, got out of the car and circled around to the back. Both Winchesters were out with him in a flash. As soon as the trunk was opened, Dean slammed it shut and held out his hand.

"Keys."

"I'm sorry?"

"You should be," Dean replied, the muscles in his cheeks standing out as he struggled to contain his temper. He snatched his keys back, firmly placing a hand down on the trunk when the Doctor tried to open it again.

"You're going to need the firepower," the Doctor insisted.

"Look, dude, I appreciate you giving us the addresses," Dean said and the Doctor rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair with impatience. There really wasn't any time for break up lines. "But me and Sammy are kind of a two-man deal."

"Okay. I get it. It's not me, it's you." his attention was suddenly snapped away from the Winchester and back to the window. Minutes ago it had been dark, the lights turned off just like when he was in the room with Caroline's mother because she was asleep. Because she was sick. Except she wasn't asleep and she wasn't sick. And now the window was illuminated with a pulsing, sickening blue that was intensifying by the second.

Curious and unnerved by the way the Doctor was zoning out, the brothers followed his gaze to the window.

"Oh, no."

The light grew brighter and brighter, but only the single window was illuminated.

"No, no, please, no."

He took off. The time lord sprinted as fast as he could up the driveway, jumped on the car that belonged to Caroline's mother—ultimately setting off its alarm, but that didn't slow him a bit—and leapt off its roof. Shingles tore at the skin on his fingers. Sliding, sliding; he hadn't jumped high enough. Forcing his hands to clench, he let out a yelp and said goodbye to a fingernail that had gotten caught on a rough edge. Pain flared up and a liquid warmth covered the area. But he wasn't falling anymore.

Against the wishes of every muscle in his upper body, he began to pull. He groaned with effort, dragging himself up until his stomach was flat on the roof of the house. Then, although his body begged for a breath, he shimmied his legs up as well and coerced himself to stand. The window had already gone dim.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered under his breath.

The sound of shattering glass followed by a crash echoed throughout the quiet street. The car alarm was starting to draw a bit of a crowd, but all eyes that arrived were watching the strange young man on the roof, brutally destroying a window from the outside. He soon disappeared into said window and Sam became vaguely aware that someone near to him was talking to a 911 operator.

"No, I've never seen him around before!" a young woman was yelling into her cell phone. "Oh my God, he just went inside. Little kids live there! Please hurry!"

Neither Winchester wanted to stand around another second. Dean threw open the trunk, handed his brother a sawed-off shotgun, grabbed himself the closest revolver and closed up their miniature armoury again before running after Sam to the front door. Neither bothered to knock. They weren't selling insurance this time. They bolted up the stairs three at a time, cautiously peeking into each room on the way down the hall.

The second last door was closed. Sound effects of slashing swords and old fashioned adventure music could be heard from behind it. Dean slipped passed and peered into Caroline's room to see the Doctor between two curtains billowed inwards by the wind. He stared at an empty bed. Except with a closer look, Dean could see that it wasn't empty; the sheets were halfway thrown back and the pillow appeared to be somewhat charred. A similar black spot scarred the baby pink carpet beneath their feet.

The Doctor glanced up.

"There's something else."

Sam appeared in the doorway behind his older sibling. "The whole house is empty," he reported. "Except the boy. He's playing some old N64 game. Didn't even look at me."

The brothers looked at each other with a frustrating sense of helplessness.

"Doctor?" Dean sighed. "What do you mean by 'something else'?"

"Look around," the Doctor answered flatly. "On the bed. Under your feet. Do you see it? Ashes. Caroline's dead. Her mother, too. But there's something else..."

Dean felt his heart skip a beat. There was no way that could have been the truth. Maybe she'd just gone to the bathroom. Caroline had to be okay. She was much too young to be ashes in a bed. A hand touched his shoulder and he flinched away from it. Sam's sad eyes said everything his mouth would not.

"What do you think?" he asked quietly. Dean only shrugged, prompting Sam to suggest his own idea. He glanced back at the door to Caroline's brother's room. "I think we should check the kid for demon possession."

"Demons!" the Doctor scoffed from the other side of the room. He was holding the weird little noisemaker again and searching the closet. Obviously not finding anything, he slammed the door with an exasperated sigh. The sound of police sirens reached his ears and he frowned at the shattered window. "Not demons, boys, Silence. But Silence don't make their kills look like accidents. The teams are starting to even out."

"What are you—"

"Dean. Cops." Sam remarked. The sirens were close. If they didn't leave soon, they'd be taken in for sure, and maybe even blamed for the whole mess. The Doctor ignored both boys and brushed passed them as he'd done the first time they were in Caroline's room. When she was still alive. He went straight for her brother's room and pushed open the door just enough so he could see inside. Dean took a peek inside as well.

"Dean," Sam pressed on, "We have to go, like, now."

"Yeah, yeah," without taking his eyes off the young boy and his video game, Dean retrieved the Impala's keys from his pocket and put them in Sam's hand. "Start the car. I'll be out in a sec."

Hesitating only a moment longer, Sam nodded and left his brother with the strange man he didn't seem to get along with. The sonic screwdriver was in the Doctor's hand again. He pointed it at the boy's television set.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, his voice quiet.

"I've got a hunch," the Doctor replied.

The green light came on and the television went off. In the blackness of the screen, only the reflection of the room was visible—including those of its inhabitants. But where the mirror image of the young boy should have been, there was something terribly different. The creature in the television had shadowed pits where the boy had eyes and a circular-like mouth with countless, razor sharp teeth inside. It screeched and stood from its spot on the boy's bed.

Dean slammed the door shut and both men pressed their backs to it. A thump was heard on the other side, followed by the scratching of nails against the wood of the only thing that separated them. Outside, the Impala's horn honked repeatedly.

"Recognise it?" the Doctor asked, grabbing hold of the fiercely jiggling doorknob.

"Changelings," Dean answered with a nod. "Explains the accidents. But not Caroline."

"Because Caroline was killed by Silence. How do we kill yours?"

"How do we kill _yours_?"

Another thump. The boy-like creature was now trying to ram its way through the barricade. Sirens were close. More honking from the road.

"Dean, work with me here!"

No answer. The Winchester suddenly took off towards the staircase, reaching in his back pocket as he went.

"Dean!"

"Burn it!" came the response at last and the Doctor could see that what he'd taken out of his jeans was their salvation. A lighter. Dean lit it halfway down the steps, leaned down and set fire to the carpeting. The Doctor's relieved grin gave way to a stunned look of betrayal. The flames were spreading already.

"What are you doing?" he called after the hunter, still glued to the door in fear of the monster inside tearing him to bits if he were to let go.

"Sorry, buddy," Dean shouted from ground level. "Somebody's gotta take the wrap for this."

"Dean? Dean!" the Doctor yelled for him again and again, but he was gone. He could hear the Impala's engine get abruptly louder, then fade altogether, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Smoke was filling the upper level quickly. Using his free hand, the Doctor covered his mouth and nose with his forearm, knowing full well that there would be no regeneration if he suffocated. He had to get out. Fast. With the stairwell in a blaze, his only option was the window in which he'd initially entered. Meaning he'd have to release the door and, ultimately, the beast behind it, which was screaming and clawing no more than an inch and a half away from his abdomen. Coughing and sputtering, he turned towards the open door that would be his only escape.

What happened next, the Doctor couldn't say if he had been asked. Suddenly he was out in the cold, fresh air again, still coughing the smoke from his lungs, with a stinging pain in his left hand. The police had arrived and what little crowd had gathered was being controlled. He wasted no time in getting out of sight.

Edging himself around the side of the house, the Doctor lowered himself onto the fence that separated Caroline's house from her next door neighbours, and then he dropped to the snowy ground below.

Had he not been so busy hopping fences and sprinting through crowds in the streets, or had Dean taken him in the Impala instead of leaving him behind, or had Dean not started that fire on the staircase in the first place, perhaps he would have glanced down at the annoying stinging in his left hand. And had he done that, perhaps he would have seen the cut, a shaky, thin tally mark leaving a bright red stain on his pale white skin. And had he seen that shaky, thin tally mark, perhaps the Doctor would have known what happened in Caroline's ordinary house.

But since he was busy hopping fences and sprinting away from the officers looking for him, left behind by the Winchesters and their Impala, still smelling smoke from the blaze set to the staircase, he didn't pay any attention to his annoying stinging left hand. The tally mark would have to wait.


	5. Code White

Silent Night

(A/N: I just want to apologise profusely for abandoning this story for so long. Between a heavy loss of inspiration, some personal issues and school I've had no time or desire to update, and I feel awful about it. Soo I'm very, very sorry for keeping you lovely people waiting like that.)

Chapter 4 – Code White

A thick, uncomfortable silence covered room 202 of a sleepy little motel in Manhattan. Three men stood inside, two of which were awaiting an answer from the third, who didn't seem to be eager to talk about anything.

"You left him there?"

Still no answer.

"Dean."

"We disagreed."

Sam gave a heavy sigh and sat himself down on one of the room's twin beds. Not for the first time that day he might as well have been dealing with a six year old. He wasn't sure what made his brother feel so threatened by that strange man, and usually he would have gone along with Dean's wary instincts, but Castiel was upset enough by this for the younger Winchester to think twice. He found himself considering again a single thought that had no one answer; who in all hell was that guy?

Someone important, apparently. Castiel had looked thoroughly irritated when the boys showed up without a third wheel and was now at the motel room's window, thoughtfully if not anxiously watching the road.

"What happened in there?" Sam asked when the angel continued to say nothing.

"Changelings," Dean replied, only partially answering the question. "The son was one of 'em. The fire took care of that."

"And the Doctor?" Castiel interrupted, finally tearing his gaze from the window.

"The fire took care of that, too."

A smirk tugged on the corners of Dean's mouth. The other two thirds of the room did not smile at his 'joke.'

"Oh, come on," he defended himself. "You guys can't say you miss that bow legged British freak show. Seriously, Cas, what's the deal? Is he your boyfriend?"

There was no reply. Castiel's blue eyes returned to where they'd been before. The quiet street was blanketed with a thin layer of white, the setting sun only visible by the few rays that escaped through the snow's clouds. It was getting dark. Things would have been so much easier if...

"I'm going to go find him," the angel declared, not leaving a single moment for anyone to contradict him. One second he was there, at the window, the next, completely gone. There was nothing surprising about it at this point. It was, however, annoying.

"What's gotten into him?" Dean muttered.

"What's gotten into _you_?" Sam snapped, standing again. Only one out of a thousand questions had been answered and that bothered him. A lot. "If he came out with you, I didn't see him. What happened to the Doctor, Dean? And don't BS me."

There was a long pause. Sam was about to ask again when his brother finally spoke.

"Someone had to hold the door."

...

He was near.

The Doctor could feel it, but he couldn't see it. In his spine, his veins, both of his hearts—there was a mysterious unease plaguing him, making him feel more helpless than he already did.

Having had no other options upon his escape, he'd returned to his graveyard. To the TARDIS. Not necessarily to leave, no, he couldn't be bullied away so easily, Caroline was his business to avenge now. Just for a place to collect himself. But his safe haven was infected.

He sat on the ground, back against the Pond tombstone he resented so much yet still called friend. The last of the day's light was low in the sky. There were streetlights and lanterns and such, but he didn't expect they'd stay lit for too much longer. Once they were done teasing him they'd go out. One by one, just to make it as drawn out as possible. To make him suffer.

"Guess it's just you and me, Amelia Pond," he said quietly. To himself, but not to himself. He knew he wasn't truly alone. "Just like old times."

The snow was coating him. Gradually. He could feel it. He shook his hands off and the left one stung a little. He wanted nothing more than to look down at it, to see what was bothering it.. no, there was something he wanted more. A glance over his shoulder. Something to tell him what gave him that something behind him kind of dread. The curiosity was killing him.

"You're safe."

Relief was evident in the voice. Just slightly, though. Castiel wasn't the most expressive being in the cosmos.

"I was wondering when I'd see you again," the Doctor muttered. "Well. I say 'see'."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a streetlight flicker and fade. Followed by another.

"You knew I'd come."

"Why do you say that?"

"You waited."

The Doctor laughed. Bitterly and humourlessly. Nothing was funny.

Except that he had waited. He never waited. Even with his tired green eyes locked on the statue that sat mercilessly, mockingly on his big blue box, the statue that had waited for him more diligently than he had waited himself, he hadn't run. In a fight or flight situation, he had chosen neither; he had waited. For how long, now? He had no idea. Surely he could measure the passage of time by looking at how much snow and gathered on his shoulders.. if only he could see them.

The question inched its way back into consideration. The same one that had, a few times, nearly convinced him to stand up and stop this foolishness. Why was he trusting this man?

"Well?" The Doctor said aloud.

"Well what?" Castiel asked in reply. Oh, he could almost _hear _that head tilt.

"You said I'm safe." the Doctor habitually shook off his hands again. They had long since lost feeling. "I disagree."

Footsteps approached him from behind and a little to the left, muffled by the white blanket that coated Manhattan. Castiel was nearly in the Doctor's peripheral vision when another set of footsteps sounded to his right, distracting the both of them. Whoever it was, they were running, and towards the two non-humans, at that.

"Cas!"

The urge to look away had never been so strong! Couldn't this wait?

The voice, though out of breath, was easily recognisable as Sam Winchester's. Carefully, steadying himself against his old friend, the Doctor lifted himself off the ground. His back remained turned to the others. Impatiently. He'd waited long enough.

"I'm watching," Castiel seemed to answer his thoughts in his calm, flat tone. The Doctor couldn't even be certain he'd interpreted the two, unattached words properly, but as he shrugged his stiff shoulders to stretch all his cold, exhausted muscles, he exposed his back to the weeping angel at last without a second thought.

There he went, trusting the stranger again, without premise.

"Kill it," the Doctor found himself requesting as he dusted himself off. He cleared his throat with a hint of embarrassment at his outburst. He wasn't, however, embarrassed enough to take it back. Sam regarded him with a silent look of confusion. The Doctor didn't make eye contact. "Please."

For a moment, the only response he received was Castiel brushing passed him—close enough to touch, despite all the open space. Their arms connected and blue eyes met green in a fraction of a second that, for the Doctor, seemed to last much longer than that. Warmth shot through his frigid body as if he'd not been out in the cold all night but inside with a blanket and a fire. Not the kind of fire that was set to a staircase to try and kill him, either.

And then it was gone, the connection broken. Both physically and.. whatever else had been there for such a brief second in time. The Doctor wondered if he'd been the only one to feel anything, but there was something in those impossibly blue eyes that told him otherwise.

Castiel took hold of the stone ankles that hung innocently in front of the time machine's door. For the first time so far, the weeping angel actually looked like an angel. Well, ironically enough..

"What are you—" Sam started, but whatever his question had been, it was never finished. In an effortless motion, Castiel tore the statue's legs about halfway down the shins. The Doctor stared in open-mouthed disbelief.

The something behind him feeling returned with dreadful familiarity. It clutched at his hearts as if the cold stone hand of the monster itself had reached right into his chest. He shot a glance over his shoulder, and again over the other. Every time he faced a new angle, he could see them. Advancing. Their faces covered, bringing him back to that time he couldn't visit no matter how hard he tried. The closest street to the cemetery had already gone dark.

"They're coming for us," the time lord stated flatly, with a kind of final certainty that made a clueless Sam incredibly nervous. He was given no chance to voice any of his questions. Castiel, eyes fixed on the angel-shaped statue that had moved when no one was watching uttered one word that stopped the poor human's single, fragile heart.

"Good."

...

Dean Winchester sat alone in the quiet motel room. Uncomfortably quiet. When he tried to play some music to keep the silence from being so deafening, it felt criminal. So he stopped. He sat at the wooden desk, one hand next to his laptop and the other propped up by the elbow so he could absently tap at his lower lip.

He tried to concentrate. These articles and videos and such really did need his attention if he were to help the residents of Manhattan. The addresses he'd confirmed he needed to check out with Sam were.. entirely consistent with what the Doctor had pointed them to.

He'd stayed behind when his younger brother had decided to follow Castiel. You're being an idiot, Sam. You don't even know where to look, Sam. Call me when you realise how badly you need a ride, Sam. And yet Sam had gone anyway.

"Fuck's sake.." Dean muttered under his breath, slamming the laptop shut and standing to grab his coat. Sam was going to need a ride whether he'd admit it or not. Still, this hunting for some bow legged British freak show he didn't even want to find was getting old real fast.

...

"Watch them! Don't blink!"

The Doctor and Sam stood nearly back to back against the oncoming horror. Panicked, they both tried to keep their eyes on all the statues at once, but it was no use. They were surrounded and they knew it.

"Castiel, do something!" Sam pleaded.

"Head down," Castiel commanded in reply.

Quiet, but firm. Authoritative, in a word. The Doctor watched the man in the trench coat and all his anxiety disappeared in a flash. A literal flash that gave only a split second for him to watch Sam duck down low, shielding his face with both arms. The light emanated from Castiel's body, grew, intensified and exploded. Everything went white... then completely black.

He blinked repeatedly and rubbed his eyes. Nothing.

"What happened?" he wondered aloud, his words hardly audible.

"They're... gone," Sam answered, straightening himself out. The piles of dust the statues had become looked no different from the snow that covered the ground among the monster's remains. No one would ever know. Something touched the Doctor's shoulder and he flinched away from it—until the heat spread from the weight of the hand that had come to rest there and he was calmed.

"What happened?" he repeated in a whisper, rubbing at his eyes again. Still nothing. It frustrated him and it scared him but... with that hand on his shoulder, the panic was held at bay.

"Hey, asshats!" came a new voice. Well, not entirely new. And not entirely welcome. The Doctor's personal assassin was here. Probably near the road, judging by the sound of distance—God, why couldn't he see anything? "Need a ride?"

Footsteps reached his ears. Approaching. No, leaving. Sam was walking away. The pressure on his shoulder was released and he grabbed helplessly for Castiel, managing to close his trembling hand around a completely steady wrist.

"What happened?" he asked once more, nearly begging now.

"I told you to keep your head down," Castiel replied simply, but not completely unsympathetically. He slid his arm down in the other man's grip until the Doctor wasn't clutching his wrist but his hand.

Dean called for them again.

"Come on, lovebirds, get a room!"

"Castiel, I can't," the Doctor tightened his grip a little. He didn't finish his sentence. He didn't have to. Guilt crept into the angel's consciousness with taunts of _it's your fault, it's your fault _until he pushed the thoughts away. The man-shaped alien was proving to be harder to take care of than he'd thought. One instruction had been given. Head down. How hard could it have been.

"Hold on," Castiel muttered, forcing his hand from the Doctor's as he leaned down to wrap his arms around the panicked man's legs and hoist him over one shoulder. After all, there was no way he could make it to the Impala alone with his short circuit. Maybe the angel's advisement could be paid a little attention this time. Dangling helplessly above a ground he couldn't see, the Doctor could already hear the older Winchester's laughter about it; but strangely enough, he didn't care at all. He closed his useless, faded green eyes and pretended the suffocating blackness was voluntary.

He didn't disagree anymore. Now he was safe.


	6. Mine

Silent Night 

Chapter 5 – Mine

The drive back to the motel was tense and junior high's prom level awkward. The Doctor's gaze was fixed out the window of the Impala's back seat, but his eyes didn't shift from object to passing object. They remained still, vibrant green drained to a dull shade that no one noticed in the darkness of the city. No one except Castiel.

They said nothing. Dean had stopped poking fun when the two men had gotten into the car and sat much closer than they had to considering how much space there was. Castiel's hand rested on the Doctor's knee and the Doctor's hand rested on Castiel's. Their legs were pressed against each other and their shoulders didn't only touch, but nearly overlapped. Neither Winchester understood. Neither bothered to question it. However, the boys did find themselves wondering exactly who this stranger was in the angel's mind.

"So?" Dean cleared his throat, unable to hold back his curiosity any longer. "Anyone want to fill me in a little here?"

Sam glanced in the rear-view mirror. Castiel wasn't listening. The Doctor looked as if he hadn't heard anyone speak at all. Sam was about to recount what little he knew about the night when the accent-laced voice from the back seat stepped in, quiet and surprisingly emotionless.

"We have one less thing to worry about," the Doctor said.

Nothing else was said the duration of the drive.

...

"Who the fuck is he, Cas? Seriously." Dean leaned against the countertop, impatiently waiting for his morning coffee to be ready and expectantly staring at the angel seated at the wooden table. The only answer he received, though, was Castiel silently raising a finger to his vessel's lips, despite his human friend having been trying to keep his voice down.

Agitated wasn't accurate enough anymore. Now he was just angry. Dean crossed over to the table and slammed both palms down flat on the wooden surface, causing a loud bang from his end, followed by a softer bang from Castiel's, followed by a sleepy sounding "ouch." The Doctor lifted his head from Castiel's lap and rubbed his temple where it had been thumped. The tweed jacket that he'd somehow come to use as a blanket during the night slipped off his shoulder and was lost to the ground.

"You woke him up," Cas frowned, earning himself an sarcastic smile and a middle finger.

The Doctor blinked a few times. Hard. He rubbed his eyes. The world around him hadn't gotten any brighter.

"And what's wrong with him?" Dean demanded. "You _carried _him to the car last night. And something tells me it wasn't because you were trying to be a cute couple."

"We're not a couple," Castiel pointed out flatly.

Everyone's attention snapped to the other side of the room where the door to the bathroom opened and Sam stepped out, still buttoning up his shirt. He ruffled his hair with a towel, slowly glancing from face to face... although the Doctor's gaze seemed to be just a few inches too far to his right. Sam squinted a little, trying to put his finger on what looked so off about those weary green eyes—

A sudden yelp shocked them all out of their own thoughts as the Doctor fell off his chair, crashing to the ground with a thud. His hands groped uselessly about the floor for a moment until he touched the fabric of his jacket and grasped at it.

Castiel wanted to apologise for pushing him. He'd seen Sam close to a question and he'd panicked. He said nothing and hoped the alien would go along with it.

"Doctor? You alright?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"My coat," he muttered, pulling himself back into his seat. "Just getting my coat."

"He hurt his ankle," interrupted Cas immediately. "That's why I carried him. It's a bit sprained. Probably from having to escape a burning second floor."

That took the spotlight off the Doctor a little bit. He was grateful for that. Dean, however, wasn't so amused by any of this, much less the feeling he had of being left out of a lot of information; a feeling that hadn't left him alone since the very first appearance of the time lord. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Tell me what happened at the cemetery." He insisted.

"Tell us what happened at the house," Castiel shot back.

"Why not get your new friend to tell you the story? I'm sure he has no problem at all telling you guys how evil I am."

All eyes returned to the Doctor once more, expecting him to speak. He didn't need his sight to know they were all looking at him. But he simply sat, head down, staring at his hands that fidgeted awkwardly in his lap, waiting for Castiel to save him—something he'd become much too dependent on lately for his own comfort. When the angel did nothing but place a hand on the other's shoulder, Dean had seen enough. He crossed to 202's front door and slipped on his jacket.

"Come on, Sammy. We have work to do." Sam hesitated, but something about the way his brother glared told him it'd be in his best interest not to take the wrong side this time. He gave the angel an apologetic little shrug before following suit and grabbing his coat. Castiel stood, obviously trying to protest, but not finding an opportunity. "When you're ready to quit pissing around and start saving kids' lives, Cas, come find us."

The door slammed behind the boys and left a ringing in the remaining men's ears. The Doctor couldn't see it, and, actually, he wasn't certain he knew where Castiel was even standing anymore, but he knew those magnificent blue eyes were on him again. Tentatively, he rose from his chair, keeping a hand on the table beside him.

"You didn't tell them," he said quietly, lowering his inoperative eyes to the ground. "You didn't tell them I'm blind. Why?"

"They already think you're useless." It stung; not only for the Doctor to hear it verbalised but for Castiel to have to say those words, even though it wasn't news. "Let's not give Dean another argument to leave you behind."

There was no response. Dean had already left him behind. Not once, but twice. As the long, uncomfortable silence stretched on, the Doctor grew more and more anxious, starting to wonder if the angel had up and teleported away, abandoning the worthless man in the empty room in favour of the humans that hated him. Yet part of him knew that wasn't true. He still felt the weight of the entire sky on him, the entire sky fitted into Castiel's magnificent blue eyes, and he wished and wished that his sight would return so he could see them one more time.

Then he could hear the movement, he knew he was not alone, and his heart rates sped up simultaneously because all at once there were lips brushing ever so gently against his own, soft and warm and more inviting than an open door. When the second thoughts began to pull Castiel away, the Doctor's now or never instinct pushed him forwards.

Their kiss was long, but not long enough. The Doctor closed his eyes and tried his best to picture the angel in front of him. Slowly, curiously lifting his hand, he gently ran his forefinger along Cas' lips, suddenly feeling them shift as the older being tilted his head.

"What are you doing?"

"I wanted to know if you were smiling."

He felt the tiniest of muscle flexes beneath his fingertips. The corners of Castiel's mouth tugged upwards just a little. A bright smile spread across the Doctor's features, and it was so full of trust and hope that Castiel didn't second guess his impulses twice. Their lips met for a second time, but now it didn't feel like an accident. It just felt right.

Before either of them knew it, Castiel had driven the Doctor to one of the twin beds and pushed him down onto it, discarding both their ties on the way but never separating their embrace. Judging by the sheets—still messy as opposed to somewhat made up—he could only assume he was laying where Dean had mere hours before. Strangely enough, it didn't bother him a bit.

So what if the bed wasn't his. Castiel was.

Fingers moved quickly but carefully to undo each button in turn and, with every bit of skin exposed, the angel lifted his lips to press them against the new area. The Doctor's breathless gasps were enough permission; his hands roamed free to places not even the big blue box could take him. At last their lips found each other again, parting ever so slightly as the two let each other in. The Doctor's hands slid up Castiel's back, pulled him close and worked his fingers through the other man's hair.

When they separated at last, it felt wrong, but Castiel couldn't wait any longer. He needed more. He needed the time lord to be his.

"Is this what you want?"

The Doctor nodded. His hands trailed south again as the last of the layers that concealed skin was removed.

"Say it."

"I want you," the younger breathed. "I need you."

That was all Castiel needed to hear.

And even when they were done, side by side, completely spent, those words remained in the front of his mind, as sweet as the lips they had come from. Their fingers entwined on the Doctor's chest as he slept peacefully, the angel content to wait, and feel those two hearts beat beneath his hand.

_Mine, _he thought, and no one could tell him otherwise. _All mine. _


	7. School's Out

Silent Night

Chapter 6 – School's Out

Despite the sun finally peeking out in the early-afternoon/late-morning hours of the day, the temperature was still painfully low and the Impala was coated in a thin sheet of ice under its heavy layer of snow. Dean forced open the driver's side door and slammed it shut again, effectively shaking off most of the frozen water as well as expelling some of his frustration. Sam did the same to the other side of the car—albeit with quite a bit less fury—before getting inside and shivering a little. The moment the vehicle was started up, he put the heat on high.

"Times like these, I really hate winter," he muttered, able to see his breath with every word.

"Christmas is in a few days. Did you know?" Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the door to room 202. He kept expecting it to open. He kept expecting Castiel to remember it was his job to come along. Nothing happened.

"Have we got plans?" Sam inquired curiously.

"Depends," his brother replied.

"On what?"

"On whether those kids are safe."

They had work to do. They had places to go, people to see, creatures to investigate. But once again, the Impala remained in park. They did not move from the lot in front of the quiet Manhattan motel. Dean waited just a bit longer, unwilling to leave it like this—unwilling to believe that Castiel would really abandon them for this.. new guy.

".. Dean?"

"What?"

Sam couldn't help but sigh quietly. He suddenly opened the car's passenger door, snapping his older brother's attention away from room 202 at last.

"I'm going to go grab the laptop," Sam replied to the question on Dean's face. "We might need it."

He doubted it. Dean knew it, too. But as the passenger door shut behind his younger brother and he was left alone in the empty, slowly heating to a bearable temperature car, he was grateful that he had a minute alone to collect himself, and he suspected that's what Sam was aiming for. He needed to concentrate, not tantrum like a jealous child.

Oh, God. Is that what he was? Jealous? No way. He didn't care who Castiel paid attention to or defended carried over his shoulder. He just wanted to help these damn kids. He closed his eyes and lowered his forehead against the cold steering wheel, taking a deep breath. Focus. They had work to do.

Hardly two minutes later, he heard the door to his car open and shut again as Sam got in. Alone and empty handed. His lips were pressed into a pale, thin line and he stared straight ahead. Dean sat back in the driver's seat, glanced over at him, and leaned forward a bit to peer around the other man. He raised an eyebrow slightly.

".. Forget something?"

"Huh?" Sam looked over at his brother as if noticing him for the first time.

"The laptop," Dean reminded him.

"Oh."

Still no explanation.

"Earth to Sammy?"

"Uh, battery's dead," Sam finally answered and abruptly snapped on the radio, fiddling with the tuning so he wouldn't have to look Dean in the eye. "I left it on the charger."

Dean watched the man a moment longer, wanting to question, wanting to ask if Castiel was coming, but he wouldn't let himself go there again. He had to focus. He put the Impala in gear and, before long, room 202 faded from view entirely. After all, they had work to do.

...

Castiel wouldn't have minded allowing the Doctor to sleep for a little while longer, considering the late night and exhausting morning the time lord had endured. But when he was alone, he was alone with his thoughts, and now what Dean had said before he and the other Winchester stormed out was threatening to ruin his good mood. The kids needed his help. No, he'd be lying if he pretended that was his main concern. Dean was the one that needed his help. Or at least his company.

He sat up, moved to shake his lover awake, and stopped his hand less than an inch from the body he couldn't keep his touch from less than two hours before.

The Doctor looked so helpless, so vulnerable, so.. beautiful. A strip of sunlight streaked his pale skin, leaving a golden stripe across his chest, over the back of his hand, then across his chest again. His other hand lay limp at his side, loosely puzzle-fit with Castiel's. Maybe he could wait just a little longer..

Then he could hear voices outside the door, approaching their room. Which usually wouldn't have been an issue at all-they were in a motel, of course, they didn't think for a second that they'd be the only ones around. The issue was that he recognised those voices because they belonged to the Winchesters.

"Seriously, I'm starving. Go get me some food or I'm going to eat your shoe."

Sam. They were right outside. But Cas didn't hear the sound of the key slipping into the lock. Had they even locked the door? He hoped so.

He shot out of bed and literally jumped into his pants, then slipped into his shirt and leaned over the bed to nudge the Doctor, who groaned a little and rubbed his eyes. His yawn was cut short when a pile of his clothes was dropped on his chest. Then there were lips pressed against his in a quick, apologetic kind of good morning kiss.

"Did I miss something?" he asked sleepily, sitting up in the bed and pulling his own shirt on. When he blinked again, and again, he realised something had changed; there was light. There was a difference between eyes open and eyes closed. His vision wasn't gone forever.

There was no time to celebrate, apparently. He heard 202's door open and he wondered if it was the sound of Castiel leaving him behind. But there was no sound of the door closing. Curiously, he listened for more, silently feeling for which side of his pants was the front before he put them on.

"I knew it."

Oh, that was not good. Not good at all.

There was a soft click as Sam closed the door behind him and some rustling from the bed when the Doctor got up. He lifted his suspenders back up on his shoulders and felt Castiel take one of his hands, placing his bow tie in the up-turned palm. He didn't need his sight to be able to tie it.

"I came back a couple hours ago for the laptop," Sam frowned at the two like he was disciplining two misbehaved children. Except these misbehaved children had slept together. On Dean's bed. "Not like either of you noticed. You were just dropping the puck in tonsil hockey, huh."

"Sam—" Castiel started, finishing up with his tie, backwards and all.

"No, Cas, don't try to explain. I don't care what's going on with you guys. I just sent Dean to the vending machines because I had a feeling." Sam shook his head. "I suggest you two pick up your socks and get your stories straight before he walks in here."

The Doctor and his angel were grateful for the younger Winchester and said nothing as they heeded his advice. By the time Dean returned to room 202, holding only two bottles of water because the "son of a bitch machine ate all his change," the three other men were seated at the table, the Doctor's hand on Castiel's leg beneath it.

"Anyway, in case you guys were wondering, Sammy and I made some real progress this morning," Dean remarked with a touch of pride. "The middle school. Remember the changeling in that house? Caroline's brother? All the families in the news have a kid in the same middle school."

"And what are we going to do about it? Blow up the school?" Castiel asked flatly.

"No," Sam interrupted, "We're going to set a controlled fire to the science wing."

The angel tilted his head a bit in disbelief. The Doctor didn't really react at all. He was busy staring at his hand, marvelling at the fact that he could see its general shape now. Only when he squinted, and it was only a few inches from his eyes, but it was progress. Dean regarded the man in silent suspicion.

"Tell me your plan is more thought out than that."

"Our plan is more thought out than that," Dean said. "Obviously not everyone in that wing is inhuman. We'll pose as detectives, check the kids out with a mirror, call the normal ones out for 'questioning,' and torch the rest."

"And what's our role in this?"

It both irritated Dean and threw him off a moment that Castiel used the word 'our.'

"Who said we need you?" he questioned.

"You did," the Doctor suddenly interjected. "You wouldn't be here telling us your plan if we weren't involved."

He had a point. And the two were supposed to be involved in the action. That didn't mean Dean had to be happy about any of it.

"Cas, you're going to help us check out the kids." he answered reluctantly. "Bow legs, we're giving you the easy job. Go to the maintenance room and turn off the gas. That part of the school's on the first floor—if it explodes, we're taking out a lot more than just science."

"Why are we only taking out science?" the Doctor asked.

"We asked around and got a couple of class lists," Sam said. "Not entirely legally, but it gets the job done. All the kids from the news have that class in common. Probably how the changelings chose their victims. They're using that part of the day to, like, regroup or something." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper and smoothed it out on the table. It was a map of the school. He pointed to one section. "That's where all the science rooms are. There's the maintenance room. We're going to take the kids there, since it's closest to the exit. I wish we had more time, but we have to go now. Their class starts in.. a half hour. And it's their last day before winter break."

They all looked over the map carefully, watching Sam's finger trace out the plan. The Doctor couldn't make out a thing on the page, but he was much too focused on the fact that he could see Sam's hand to worry about that. Then the hand was gone, and so was the page; the younger Winchester stood, stuffing the map into his pocket again.

Castiel stood as well, and the Doctor followed suit.

"Let's get going, then."

...

The four men stood in the empty hallway. Entering the school had been surprisingly simple; the Winchesters had put on their most professional suits and their FBI IDs, while Castiel had simply taken the Doctor's hand and teleported them inside.

"We all know what we're doing?" Sam asked in a low voice, handing both the angel and his brother compact mirrors (with concealer inside that matched none of their skin tones, but that was a minor, irrelevant detail). The Doctor squinted at the hallway. One of those doors led to the room he was supposed to go to. Little by little, his vision had lightened and blurred the slightest bit less, but that didn't mean he could see. Still, he put his trust in Castiel and nodded.

The group split up and attended to their individual tasks. Once, seemingly a million years ago, the Doctor had instructed a certain fairytale girl to close her eyes and walk like she could see. If she could do it, so could he. He wandered down the hallway, narrowing his eyes carefully at each door. Each sign read some kind of number he couldn't read, but closer to the end of the hall was a door with a much longer sign with what he assumed was two words, not numbers. If that wasn't it, it was his best bet.

He tried the handle. Locked. Soniced it. Not locked anymore. He went inside.

...

Not four rooms away, the rest of the plan was already falling apart. The Winchester boys had stood at the door, held up their mirrors, looked over the room, all as planned. What hadn't been planned was what happened if one of the creatures caught sight of them and didn't like what it saw.

A young boy in the front row hissed. Followed by two children near him. All eyes were fixed on the fake agents at the door. Panicked, Sam struck a match.

"Sammy, what are you—"

The kids were on their feet. Nearly all of them were monsters.

"There's no one in there to save!"

Dean's blazer caught fire and he swore, pulling it from his body. The boy that had initially spotted them lunged, resulting in the flaming cloth being tossed directly at his vicious, shrieking face. It screamed. Sam slammed the door on it. 'Child' after infected 'child' slammed into the barrier, clawing at the window until their fingernails bled.

"What now?!" Dean shouted over the noise.

Sam didn't reply. He left his brother with his back to the door—a situation unpleasantly similar to Caroline's house—and darted for the fire alarm.

...

"Doctor?"

Castiel entered the maintenance room. It was a small place; the breakers to the left of the entrance, the water and gas pipes to the right, along with a set of shelves covered in cleaning supplies and such scattered about. The Doctor stood near the valves—but his back was turned to them and he was looking up. His attention snapped to the angel when his name was called and he looked.. disoriented. It was unsettling.

"Doctor? Your hand is bleeding."

No response for a moment. The Doctor looked down at his hand and his eyes widened in horror. One cut had already scabbed over, but a second tally mark had been scratched into the back of his left hand right next to the first. He glanced up at the blurry figure of Castiel.

"What am I in here for..?" he asked quietly, confused.

The fire alarm sounded suddenly pierced their ears and snapped him out of his daze.

The gas was still on.

...

All four men watched from the Impala as half the school collapsed in on itself, flames bursting from windows and a number of the closest vehicles' alarms going off. Three of the four stared disbelievingly, while the fourth coughed and coughed violently, spattering blood on his hands. Teleporting so many people so fast had taken a lot out of Castiel. The Doctor patted his back until the fit subsided.

Silently, Dean drove. Away from the school. Away from the destruction. Away from the deaths that could have been so easily prevented. They passed fire trucks speeding in the direction they were driving away from. Emergency services could get there as fast as they wanted—those kids were dead and one man in the car was to blame.

At least Dean wasn't the bad guy anymore.


End file.
